Can't Go On Like This
by 427-67Impala
Summary: Sam has secretly been in love with Dean for years, and now he's got a reason to think his big brother feels the same way. Question is, what is Sammy going to do about it? How hard is he prepared to push to find out the truth? Wincest, very mild non-con. Oneshot.


_Title:_ Can't Go On Like This_  
>Author:<em> 427-67Impala  
><em>Rating:<em> M  
><em>Warnings:<em> Wincest, mild non-con  
><em>Word count:<em> 8,887  
><em>Setting: <em>I see it in mid-Season 2

Sam has secretly been in love with Dean for years, and now he's got a reason to think his big brother feels the same way. Question is, what is Sammy going to do about it? How hard is he prepared to push to find out the truth?

_A/N:_ "Sam has secretly been in love with Dean for years"... yeah, it's one of those :p

As we know, Sam and Dean belong to Kripke & co. - I'm just borrowing their toys...

* * *

><p><em>Great Falls, Montana<em>

Sam was laying back on his bed staring at the peeling yellowed paint on the ceiling when the Impala rumbled into the carpark, and a few seconds later its headlights lit up the dark motel room.

It was late at night - the last time he'd moved to look at the luminous red numbers on the alarm clock, it had been just after 10pm. That had been a while ago, and Sam had spent the intervening time much like he'd spent most of the evening: considering his plan of attack. He had to get this right. He was sure as hell only going to get one chance, and he had to make it count.

Sam heard the hinges creak as the Impala's door opened and then shut, and the faint _click_ as it was locked. He got up off the bed and padded through the near-darkness to the divider separating the entryway from the rest of the room, heart rate rising as he listened to the footsteps approaching on the concrete outside.

There was a rustle from a plastic shopping bag and the jangle of the motel room key on its aluminium keychain, then finally the metallic grinding of the key in the lock and a series of small _thunk_ sounds as the sticky pins were forced back. There was no turning back now, and Sam's heart was racing.

The hinges on the door squeaked as Dean swung it open. He was trying to be quiet about it, having noticed there were no lights on and figuring his brother was already asleep. He didn't see Sam waiting in the shadows.

Dean had only just shut and locked the door before Sam stepped silently out from behind the divider and threw him against the wall beside the door. He dropped his plastic bag of random groceries and hit the plasterboard face first with a hollow _thud_ and a cry of surprise, but before he could turn around Sam came up behind him and used all his considerable strength to pin him to the wall.

Dean grunted as his baby brother shoved him hard against the plaster and tried to heave Sam off him, but the youngest Winchester was bigger - and stronger, when he wanted to be - and after struggling for a bit Dean had to concede defeat. He stood still, breathing hard with Sam's hands on his back pressing him against the wall, and his heart was pounding so loud he thought Sam must be able to hear it.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, trying to look over his shoulder at Sam. This was definitely _not_ the greeting he'd expected when he pulled up to the motel less than a minute earlier.

Sam stayed quiet at first, and Dean frowned as he tried work out what the hell was going on. Whatever it was, Sam was serious about it - that was for damn sure. Dean was going to have a bruise on his right shoulder where it had struck the wall, and probably one on his jaw for the same reason.

Dean didn't have time to think too much about the motivation behind his brother's bizarre behaviour before Sam finally spoke. His voice was soft and controlled, but what he said took Dean's breath away.

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_24 hours earlier_

Sam and Dean had spent the previous day hunting a spirit, and if they were honest, it wasn't going all that well.

A young woman named Ashley had recently bought a 1930s weatherboard house on the outskirts of Great Falls, and stirred up a former owner by starting some much-needed renovations. The Winchester boys had then managed to piss the spirit off further and they'd had no choice but to turn tail and run when it started throwing most of the poor woman's living room at them.

That was how Ashley came to be staying in a hotel for the night, where nothing would try to kill her while she slept, and why Sam and Dean spent the evening licking their wounds at a local bar. Sam had wrinkled his nose when Dean led him up the battered wooden stairs to the front door of 'The Matchbox' - he'd had his fill of dim, beer-stained dives, and would actually rather have sat in their motel room all night. Dean tried to tell him they'd been in worse places but, shockingly, that didn't make Sam feel any better.

The bar was an old wooden building, its interior illuminated mostly by the lights over the pool tables, with scuffed floorboards and windows that had a grimy border around the edges where years of half-hearted cleaners hadn't quite gotten into the corners. The jukebox apparently didn't contain anything recorded after 1989 (the newest song Sam had heard all night was Poison's _Every Rose Has Its Thorn_), they had El Sol on tap, the dusty shelves behind the bar were brimming with cheap whiskey, and there were plenty of not-so-sober biker types that were easy prey to a practiced pool shark like Dean. He was having a great time.

Sam, however, wasn't. He was drinking more than his big brother, something he'd been doing more and more lately. But if Dean noticed he didn't mention it, and with what was going on in his head Sam figured he had a right to drink.

It wasn't easy, rambling all over the country with the guy you were secretly in love with. Making sure he didn't see you watching him, hoping you didn't call out his name while you were dreaming - trying not to stare when he walked out of the bathroom to get his clothes, soaking wet and wrapped only in a little white motel towel...

Sam sighed and watched his brother, whiskey in hand, as he conned player after player at the pool tables. It wasn't often he could safely admire Dean, but one of those times was when he was playing pool. He was always concentrating on the game, on his opposition, on his next shot - totally clueless that his little brother was watching him from afar.

_Those jeans are awesome on him._ Sam smiled as he saw Dean pluck two $50 bills from the hand of his latest victim, a satisfied little smile on his face. Bizarrely, a new challenger stepped up as soon as the vanquished player slipped away. _I guess some people just don't learn,_ Sam surmised, as he watched his brother rack up the balls for a new game.

Dean stuck to drinking his beloved El Sol while he was taking half the bar for all they were worth, but when he'd amassed a healthy collection of bills he joined Sam at a slightly rickety table in the corner and swapped tall glasses of beer for smaller tumblers of whiskey. They started out talking about Ashley and the spirit, but it wasn't long before they fell into the deep, brutally honest kind of conversation you only get when both parties are mostly smashed.

"You know Sammy, if I didn't know better... the way you've been drinking lately, you might make a guy think there could be something on your mind," a smiling and inebriated Dean told his little brother, unaware that he wasn't making a great deal of sense.

"So because I'm drinking as much as you there must be something on my mind? Says more 'bout you than me, I reckon." Sam smiled back, after a few seconds spent deciphering that sentence, and Dean grinned.

"Takes one to know one," he chuckled, then drained the last of his whisky and signalled the waitress for another.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Sam told him, knowing full well Dean wouldn't share whatever it was that made him drink. If his secret depended on Dean keeping his own, it would probably never see the light of day.

"Yeah, whatever." Dean almost stuck his tongue out at Sam, but stopped himself when the waitress arrived with a fresh glass of amber liquid. He gave her a brilliant smile as she set it on the table and she smiled back, her cheeks flushing rosy red as she turned away. Dean watched admiringly as the waitress walked back to the bar, and she flashed him another smile over her shoulder.

Dean had that effect on women, and it drove Sam crazy - none of those random girls loved Dean the way he did, but they sure as hell got his attention. It hurt Sam every time he flirted with a potential conquest; caused an actual physical pain deep in his chest as he was reminded that these women could get closer to Dean than he probably ever would. He hid it well, though - he'd been doing it for years and he was good at it. As far as Sam knew, Dean had no idea how he really felt. Unsurprisingly, that hurt too.

Tonight however, an over-familiarity with Mr Jack Daniels had slowed Sam's reflexes quite a bit and as Dean looked away from the waitress and back to Sam, he caught the end of his brother's anguished expression.

He creased his brow slightly in surprise while Sam stared down at his half-finished whiskey, oblivious. That wasn't the kind of look Dean was used to seeing on his baby brother's face when he flirted with random waitresses - he often looked annoyed, impatient, or even embarrassed, but not _hurt_...

Dean sat silently, studying his little brother with slightly narrowed eyes. "So you're not gonna tell me what that was all about, then?" he asked, after a short pause.

"What what was about?" Sam replied, after a pause of his own. He tried to sound casual despite his skyrocketing heart rate, but kept his eyes on his whiskey and avoided meeting his brother's gaze. He was silently cursing himself for drinking too much and letting his guard down when a sudden gasp from Dean made him look up.

He found Dean sitting up straight in his chair, staring at him with wide, stunned eyes, and Sam suddenly got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that Dean had finally worked it out.

"Aw, Sammy..." he breathed, so quietly Sam barely heard it.

He shut his eyes and dropped his head, waiting for the explosion of anger and disgust. He was sure now - he'd seen it written all over Dean's face, patently obvious in his shocked expression. He knew.

Sam was resigned as he sat back in his chair. _It was a miracle I managed to hide it this long. _Dean wasn't stupid, and he solved mysteries for a living, after all...

"Sam." Dean reached out to put a hand on Sam's arm, his voice soft and intense now. Sam was right; Dean _had _realised what was bothering his little brother, but they didn't get a chance to continue the conversation. The moment ended abruptly when an overweight biker dressed in too much black leather stomped over and yanked Dean out of his chair by the collar of his jacket.

"You cheated me out of 200 bucks, boy!" the biker growled, shirt-fronting Dean into the bar's wood-panelled wall and throwing a punch that glanced off the eldest Winchester's left cheekbone. Sam watched on, dumbstruck by this sudden turn of events.

"Hey, it's not my fault you can't play, man!" Dean gasped, unable to keep the cheeky smile off his face as he narrowly ducked the next punch. The biker's fist missed him and cracked the panelling, leaving a dark smear of blood on the splintered wood, and at that point Sam figured he should probably give Dean a hand.

He was just getting up when the biker turned and, with an animal roar, hurled Dean clear across the room. Sam and the rest of the bar watched in stunned silence as he hit the floor with a grunt and slid for a few feet, coming to a stop when his head smacked into the wall near the front door.

The biker stalked over to him, a murderous snarl on his face, and was dragging a semi-conscious Dean off the floor when Sam smashed a nearly-full beer bottle across the back of his head.

He yelled out in pain and staggered back, dropping Dean back to the floor with a _thud_. As the biker fell backwards into a table, swearing and clutching his bleeding head, Sam quickly hauled Dean up and half-carried his dazed big brother out into the cold night air where the Impala waited patiently in the dimly lit carpark.

The combination of alcohol and a good crack to the head meant Dean wasn't able to help all that much, and about ten feet from the car Sam lost his grip and Dean sank to the loose gravel with a groan. Sam glanced back and didn't see anyone following them just yet - but that didn't mean they wouldn't, and he had no desire to be in the carpark when that biker and his buddies spilled out of the bar looking for blood.

"Dammit, Dean, we need to get out of here!" Sam tried dragging his brother up, but Dean couldn't or wouldn't help him and Sam had to let him stay sprawled on the ground. He sat on his haunches beside Dean with an annoyed sigh, considering what to do next.

"Sam." Dean's voice was quiet, and when Sam looked into his brother's eyes they were bleary and slightly unfocused.

"You've gotta get up, Dean!" Sam told him, frustrated, but Dean didn't try to get up. Instead, he reached out and locked his hand around Sam's wrist.

"It's okay, Sammy. I don't hate you," he whispered, and Sam's heart almost stopped. He looked down at Dean with wide eyes, and his brother's green ones stared back intently as he made a conscious effort to focus.

"It's okay," he repeated, a faint smile on his lips. "I understand. I know how you feel." He squeezed Sam's wrist, then did the _last_ thing Sam expected. He pushed himself up off the ground, kissed Sam fleetingly on the lips, then his eyelids fluttered and he sank back to the gravel with a groan.

As Dean lay flat on his back in the middle of the carpark, hands pressed to his temples, Sam sat back on his heels and stared at him in disbelief. He blinked a few times, pure amazement rendering his mind suddenly and totally blank. He ran his tongue over his lips where Dean's had touched them - there was a faint trace of whiskey, mixed with the metallic tang of blood from his brother's bitten tongue.

Gazing down at Dean laying on the ground, Sam's mind gradually started to tick over again and he couldn't quite believe what his macho, man's-man big brother had just done. He actually pinched himself to make sure this wasn't some kind of wonderful dream, and a smile touched his lips when he realised he was awake. That meant this was real - that what Dean had said, and done, _was real_.

A little warm feeling grew inside Sam, spreading out through his chest as the shock faded, and he was finally able to think in whole sentences again.

_Dean feels the same way._

He found himself smiling widely as he repeated the words in his mind: _Dean feels the same way!_

Unfortunately, Sam didn't have time to dwell on this revelation. He looked up as he heard a commotion inside the bar; raised voices shouting things like _"W__e're gonna go find those punks__!__"_ and _"__L__et's teach them a lesson__!__"_.

"Yeah, definitely time to go," Sam said to himself, and fished the car keys out of Dean's front pocket. He hurriedly unlocked the Impala, manhandled his semi-conscious big brother into the back seat, then jumped in the front and hit the ignition. The Impala's rear tyres threw up an impressive rooster tail of gravel as Sam gunned the engine and pealed out onto the street, leaving a mob of angry bikers shouting and swearing at them from the veranda of the bar.

It was only a few minutes' drive back to the motel, which was a good thing given Sam's current state of intoxication. He would usually never _ever_ drive drunk - he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was over the limit - but he figured an injured big brother and a horde of pissed off bikers baying for their blood was as good a reason as any to start. By some miracle he made it to the motel without incident, both hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel and staying 10mph under the limit the whole way, and parked the Impala as neatly as he could out the front of their room.

Dean was mostly conscious by now and he was able to make it inside with minimal help. He immediately crashed on his bed with a moan, only stopping to kick his shoes off. Sam sighed and took a quick look up and down the street before he locked the door, making sure the bikers weren't descending on the motel like bloodthirsty locusts.

By the time he'd done that and double-checked the salt lines at the door and windows, Dean was already fast asleep. Sam threw a blanket over him, silently thanking God his brother had never actually lost consciousness. He didn't really want to get up every few hours to wake Dean and check he was okay, and he knew from experience that Dean didn't appreciate it either.

As it turned out, Sam didn't get a lot of sleep that night anyway. He kept replaying the evening in his mind, mulling over every little detail. When he did manage to fall asleep sometime after 3am, he even dreamed about it.

Sam was woken from a particularly pleasant dream just before 8am when his Motorola began trilling loudly from the kitchen table. He opened his eyes and winced as the morning light fanned the flames of his pounding headache, then rolled out of bed and silently cursed Jack Daniels as he staggered over to answer the phone. Dean was still lying in pretty much the same position as when he'd crashed the night before, sleeping peacefully.

Sam picked up the phone on the eighth ring, but before he could get a word out he was almost deafened by a woman's piercing scream. He groaned and yanked the phone away from his ear, the sound still ringing in his aching head.

"Ashley?" he groaned, tentatively putting the phone back to his ear.

"Sam!" Ashley almost shouted his name on the other end of the line, and Sam grimaced and pressed a hand to the other side of his head. This wasn't helping his headache at all.

"What's wrong?" he asked, keeping the phone a couple of inches from his ear.

"The spirit - it's trying to tear the house down or something! It's throwing stuff out the windows, and it nearly killed one of my neighbours!" Ashley sounded like she was crying, and Sam heard some distant yelling followed the sound of glass breaking in the background.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and thought for a few seconds before he answered. "Okay, Ashley - don't go near the house, okay? Dean and I will be right there," he assured her, and hung up after she promised she wouldn't.

Sam put the phone back on the table, dry-swallowed a couple of aspirin, then went over and firmly shook Dean's shoulder. He groaned and buried his head in the pillows, but Sam just shook him harder.

"Get up, Dean. That spirit is trying to tear down Ashley's neighbourhood." He threw some relatively clean jeans and a t-shirt at his brother then went to find some clothes of his own. Dean slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

"What?" he asked sleepily, and Sam sighed.

"Ashley called. The spirit's trying to destroy the house," he repeated simply, and Dean blinked.

"Oh. Okay." He got up off the bed gingerly, and winced as he held a hand to the bruise on the back of his head.

"Here." Sam tossed him the bottle of aspirin, and Dean also dry-swallowed a couple of the white pills before he picked up the clothes Sam had thrown at him.

Sam watched Dean out of the corner of his eye as he started to get dressed, but saw no sign he was feeling awkward about the previous night or even that he remembered it. _It's possible he doesn't,_ Sam realised with a frown. _He was pretty drunk, and that crack to the head wouldn't help..._

"What the hell happened last night?" Dean asked, keeping his voice low. His words sounded rough and gravelly, and he swayed a little as he started to pull on his jeans.

"What do you remember?" Sam asked, equally quietly, trying not to make it sound like the loaded question it was. _Please tell me you remember. __Please._

"I remember winning a heap of cash hustling pool, then sitting down at a table with you... but everything after that's a total blank," Dean replied, his back to Sam as he slipped on a clean shirt. That was probably a good thing, because at that moment Sam looked like he was about to cry.

After all these years keeping his secret, when he'd finally had 'The Conversation' with Dean (well, kind of), his brother didn't even remember it. They'd been so close to working it out, and he'd been _so close_ to everything he ever wanted...

Sam closed his eyes and took a breath before he responded. "You won a couple of hundred bucks off a biker and he wasn't impressed. He threw you into a wall and you cracked your head, and I guess that plus all the beer and whiskey wiped your memory," he told Dean, somehow managing to keep his voice steady as tears welled up in his eyes.

"How'd we get out of there?" Dean asked, limping slightly as he walked past Sam into the bathroom.

"I smashed a beer bottle over the guy's head then basically carried you out to the Impala," Sam said, as he tried to blink away the tears. He resisted the urge to tell Dean the rest of the story; early in the morning when they were both tired and hung over wasn't the time to have a conversation like that.

"Thanks for saving my ass." Dean's voice floated out of the open bathroom door, but Sam didn't reply. He wiped a few stray tears from his cheeks with his sleeve and started rummaging through his bag for a clean pair of socks.

The Winchester boys got dressed in silence after that, neither of them turning on any lights or making any unnecessary noise while they waited for the aspirin to kick in. Dean just looked sore and hung over, but Sam was utterly miserable. Fortunately, to Dean's bloodshot eyes, he just looked tired and a little the worse for wear - exactly how you might expect a guy to look after he'd had too much to drink the night before, so he didn't ask if anything was wrong. Sam wasn't sure he could lie about it right to Dean's face.

"So what are we planning to do about the spirit, exactly?" Dean asked, interrupting Sam's train of thought as he was halfway through tying his left shoe.

"Well, we've gotta stop it tearing her house down. We don't know who it is, so we can't just burn the bones - maybe we use Missouri's purifying bags?" Sam mused, as casually as he could manage.

Dean sighed, sounding decidedly unenthusiastic. "Awesome. 'Cause the angry spirits _love_ that," he grumbled, pulling on his own shoes.

"Got a better idea?" Sam asked, more sharply than he'd intended. Dean glanced up with an irritated look on his face and opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and looked back down to his shoe without saying a word. Sam finished tying his laces, then got up wordlessly and went out to search the Impala's trunk for the little leather-wrapped parcels he and Dean would somehow have to get into the walls of this haunted house.

As it turned out, Dean had been right - the spirit didn't take kindly to the boys trying to evict it from its own house. It threw everything it could at them, including an actual kitchen sink, to try and stop them punching holes in the walls and stuffing their little leather bags in the cavities.

The sink missed Dean's head by mere inches, and he hurled such curses at the invisible presence while he literally kicked holes in the rendered plaster wall of the kitchen that Sam thought the room might actually turn blue. His brother really knew how to swear, and it usually cracked Sam up - Dean didn't generally appreciate his amusement, but he frowned when he noticed Sam didn't even crack a smile.

As soon as Sam and Dean got all four bags in place in the walls, the house fell eerily quiet. "We've gotta find out who the hell this is. It's personal now," Dean declared, when he and Sam got outside. He wiped the blood from a small cut on his forehead where some flying glass had nicked him, an annoyed look on his face.

"I think I can help with that." A feminine voice piped up from the yard behind them, and Sam and Dean turned around to find Ashley standing there with a piece of paper in her hand. She handed it to Sam before he even asked for it.

While his little brother scanned the document, Dean's eyes never left Ashley - she was athletic, 5"6', with long blonde hair and ocean blue eyes... exactly his type, and she had her eye on him too.

"Where did you get this? It's the original deed we couldn't find at the library." Sam looked up, and Ashley tore her eyes away from Dean to look at his little brother instead.

"I found it in a box of old papers this morning. I was thinking about it all night at the hotel and I came straight here to pick it up - I guess the spirit didn't like that, 'cause that's when it started destroying the house," she explained, and Sam handed the piece of paper back to her.

"The spirit is Mildred Spencer," he told Dean, who sighed wearily.

"We're gonna go grave-digging tonight, aren't we?" he asked, and for the first time that day Sam smiled. A small one, but still a smile.

"No. The Spencers have a crypt at the cemetery, so we can salt and burn her bones in the privacy of a stone room," he replied, and Dean looked back at him with raised eyebrows.

"It's amazing what makes you happy, Sam." He smiled, but it faded when Sam couldn't quite manage one of his own.

"You know, I'm _so_ grateful you boys helped me out with this. Maybe I could... show you my appreciation?" Ashley looked out from under her lashes at Sam and Dean, the twinkle in her eye and the little smile on her lips making it obvious what she meant. Dean gave Ashley one of his coy, flirty smiles, and Sam's heart sank. _Here we go again._

"It's nice to be appreciated occasionally, and it's not like we have to burn her bones _right now_..." Dean all but purred, and Ashley winked at him before she looked at Sam.

"What about you, honey?" she asked, and Sam forced a small smile onto his face. It didn't reach his eyes, but if Ashley noticed she didn't let on.

"Um, no, I'm gonna stay out of your way - I think I'll go pay Miss Spencer a visit. Thanks, though," he said, awkwardly, and Ashley stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"I appreciate all the hard work you put in, Sam. Thanks," she told him sincerely, then took Dean's hand as they started up the path to the house. Sam turned away as soon as they began to walk - he didn't want Dean to see the pain and disappointment on his face.

As he collected salt and lighter fluid from the Impala's trunk, Sam tried to be angry with Dean for accepting Ashley's proposition, but he just couldn't. It wasn't Dean's fault. He didn't know his brother loved him more than she ever would and Sam just couldn't hold it against him. No matter how much it hurt.

Throughout the entire ten-minute walk to the cemetery, Sam resisted the urge to cry. Instead, he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, beside the salt and lighter fluid, and tried to work out what the hell he was going to do now.

He was sure of one thing - he couldn't go on like this, with his insides tying themselves up in knots every time his brother took an interest in a pretty girl. Hell, if he started the conversation, it was even possible Dean would admit he felt the same way... Sam kinda doubted it, though. The more likely scenario was that Dean would deny everything and try to bury the whole subject.

_I guess I'll have to _make _him deal with it,_ Sam thought, and a plan began to take shape in his mind.

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"You kissed me last night." Sam's voice was soft as he spoke, his lips only a few inches from Dean's ear.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. "I remember," he said softly, and felt Sam tense behind him.

"You remember?" he asked, the astonishment showing in his voice.

"Yeah." It was obvious Sam wasn't going to let this go and Dean didn't bother trying to deny it. He remembered exactly what had happened in the carpark, and the look of joy that had flashed across his brother's face. It was the first thing that had come into his head when he'd woken up that morning, and that look was precisely why he'd pretended he _didn't_ remember - because it couldn't happen.

Sam was his brother. His _baby_ brother. The Winchester boys were screwed up in all kinds of unusual ways, yeah, but _that_ wasn't one of them. And if Sam couldn't stop himself, then Dean would just have to do it for him.

"Sam, think about what you're doing," Dean said forcefully, in his best commanding big-brother voice, and was surprised when Sam laughed. Dean felt his brother's breath on the back of his neck, and he could smell whiskey - liquid courage Sam had figured he'd need to start this confrontation.

"I _have_ been thinking, Dean. I've been thinking for _years_. I know what I want, and I think you want it too," Sam told him, and Dean frowned.

"Years…?"

The question was asked before he could stop himself. _Dammit, Dean, __you're not supposed to get into __a _conversation _about this!_

"Yeah - years. Since I was old enough to understand what these feelings were, I think, but they got more intense the older I got. By the time I left for Stanford I knew exactly what I wanted, but I thought that if I told you..." Sam trailed off, and Dean grimaced as he realised what Sam meant. He'd thought that if he told Dean what he wanted, his big brother might have disowned him. And if not Dean then almost certainly John, and he hadn't been able to bring himself to take that risk. So he kept it to himself all this time.

The thought of Sam torturing himself with a secret like that made Dean want to cry, but he bit his lip and tried not to let Sam's confession get to him.

"And then, in that parking lot, you come out with the one thing I thought I'd never hear you say," Sam continued, smiling wryly as he spoke.

"We'd both been drinking, Sam, and I was pretty much unconscious. You can't read this much into it!" Dean started to struggle again, but Sam kept him firmly pressed against the wall.

"You kissed me, Dean, and I saw the look in your eyes. You meant it." He sounded determined, and Dean gritted his teeth as Sam pressed his chest right up against his brother's back and wrapped an arm firmly around his midsection. Dean could feel his little brother's body heat soaking through his jacket, making him uncomfortably aware of how tight Sam was pressed against him.

"What's _wrong_ with you, Sam? Brothers don't do this!" Dean growled and tried to twist away, but Sam wouldn't _let_ him and he couldn't get any leverage on the wall to push Sam off him. As he stopped struggling, helpless in the face of his brother's iron grip, a chilling little thought occurred to Dean: what if he _couldn't _get away? What if he couldn't stop Sam?

Dean had never been on the receiving end of Sam's full strength before, and he realised with a shiver that whatever his little brother had planned, there wasn't much he was going to be able to do about it. The thought made him nervous, but Dean couldn't believe Sam would actually force anything on him... Dean pushed that thought away, hoping he was worrying over nothing. _Surely he won't. He wouldn't. Not Sam._

Dean tensed when he felt Sam's hand under his shirt, interrupting his train of thought, then gasped involuntarily when his little brother ran his hand up over his washboard abs. Sam's giant paw was rough as he stroked the soft, smooth skin of Dean's stomach, but his touch was gentle.

"Sam - we can't. Lemme go." Dean tried again to tear himself out of Sam's grip, getting more desperate now.

Sam held on tight, refusing to let go. "I have to know, Dean." He sounded apologetic, but didn't soften his grip in the slightest. However this turned out, Sam was sure he wanted to do it.

It wasn't just that Sam _wanted_ to do it; he _had _to do it. As he strained to hold Dean against the wall, he was fully aware that his big brother might turn around and knock him on his ass the first chance he got, but that thought didn't really bother him. He couldn't stand not knowing anymore and he was going to find out what Dean really felt. One way or the other.

Dean froze for a second as he felt Sam's hand dip down under the waist band of his jeans, and Sam heard his brother take a sharp breath before he started to struggle again with renewed intensity. Sam closed his eyes and prayed he was doing the right thing; that he wasn't making it impossible for Dean to stay with him.

The thought that this might drive Dean away had occurred to Sam earlier that evening. He knew Dean was feeling the same things he was, but didn't know if he was capable of acting on it. Maybe he wouldn't be able to cope with having an actual romantic relationship with his brother, and if that was the case, they couldn't go back to the way it was before. They couldn't pretend this hadn't happened. Sam had known going in that the stakes were _huge_, but he had to take the risk.

"Stop it, Sam! There's no going back after this!" Dean warned him, a little bit of panic creeping into his voice as he tried to wriggle out of Sam's grip. Sam didn't reply; he only paused to take deep breath before he moved his hand further, right down into the front of his brother's jeans.

_Here goes nothing._

Dean growled and swore and struggled as Sam's hand slid down the front of his jeans and over his boxers, rubbing the soft fabric tentatively at first. Dean redoubled his efforts to get away, thrashing and screaming at his little brother to let him go, and as he fought to hold on the youngest Winchester genuinely wondered for a minute if he'd made a terrible mistake.

Sam tried to tune it out, but his resolve was starting to waver and he knew if Dean kept yelling like this someone was probably going to call the cops - if they hadn't already. Dean seemed so desperate to get away that Sam wondered if he should give in and let him go.

_Maybe Dean _doesn't _want this,_ he thought, a little shiver running down his spine.

Sam was so preoccupied with his thoughts that the hand down the front of Dean's jeans stopped being so tentative and gentle, and he almost missed the soft moan that escaped his brother's lips. Dean had stopped shouting and struggling so much, so Sam started rubbing a little harder and was rewarded with another low moan. A smile spread across his face as he felt Dean relax a little, and he took a deep breath and let himself relax a bit too.

_Perhaps__ this wasn't a mistake after all._

"Stop, Sam, please. We can't." Dean still tried to protest, but his voice was breathy and unsteady now and he wasn't trying to pull away anymore. Sam could still feel some tension in him, but the hand down the front of his jeans was telling Sam all he needed to know. His big brother quite obviously didn't want to stop.

As Sam caressed him Dean actually leaned into his little brother, pressing his shoulders against Sam's chest and resting the back of his head on his shoulder. Sam took a deep breath as he loosened the iron grip around Dean's midsection, taking the time to savour his brother's scent: he smelled of leather and gunpowder, with something sweet underneath.

_Ashley's perfume,_ he guessed. But standing here with Dean leaning against his chest like this, that thought suddenly didn't bother him anymore.

Dean turned slowly to face Sam, and he wrapped his arms around his big brother in a loose hug. His cheeks were slightly flushed and Sam could see faint teeth marks where he'd been chewing his lower lip.

"You really want this?" he asked softly, and Sam nodded immediately. He was very, _very_ sure he wanted this.

"If we start... once we do this, there's no going back," Dean continued, his piercing green eyes burning into Sam's.

"I don't wanna go back," he breathed, and Dean finally allowed himself to smile. He tilted his head and kissed Sam softly at first, standing up on his toes slightly so he could reach his brother's lips. Sam made a pleased little sound in the back of his throat and pulled Dean tighter against him.

Sam had imagined what it would be like to kiss those gorgeous, pouty lips, but the reality of it was better than he ever could have dreamed. Words like _silk_ and _marshmallow_ flashed through his head as his big brother's lips crushed against his mouth and he melted into Dean's arms, but Sam didn't have the words to explain what it felt like. Soft and warm and sweet, and the divine knowledge that they were _Dean's_ lips.

They only stopped kissing long enough to tear their clothes off - Sam actually heard stitching rip as Dean pulled his own shirt over his head. Then, without warning, Dean suddenly planted his hands on Sam's chest and pushed him backwards; he staggered back a few steps, felt his calves run into something soft but solid, and fell back onto Dean's unmade bed with a gasp.

Dean climbed onto the bed after him as Sam pushed himself up towards the bedhead, wordlessly kneeling between his baby brother's thighs and leaning down to kiss him again. Sam arched up to meet him, and felt Dean shift his weight slightly as he reached a hand down between them - he drew a sharp breath when he felt his big brother's hand close around both of their achingly hard cocks.

Sam shut his eyes and groaned into the kiss as Dean pulled his hand along their lengths a few times, slowly, drawing a low moan from his own lips but almost driving Sam mad. He actually whined in disappointment when Dean released him, and felt his big brother's lips turn up in a smile. Sam was putty in his hands, and they both knew it. He might have started the evening in control, but his big brother was on top now - literally and figuratively.

When Dean broke the kiss a few minutes later, both he and Sam were breathing hard. As he lay there on his back sucking in as much air as he could and looking up at Dean, Sam smiled - his big brother was panting just as hard as he was, drawing in deep breaths through well-kissed, rosy red lips that were just a little swollen. This, right now, was something Sam had seen in his dreams for years. He could hardly believe it was happening.

He watched as Dean reached over to his bedside table, opened the little drawer and pulled out a half-used tube of no-name brand lube, then stopped and looked down at his little brother with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Have you ever done this? I mean, have you...?" Dean trailed off before he finished the question, and Sam gave him a little smile. He knew what Dean meant: _have you been with a guy before?_

"No. It's not _guys_, it's just you," he replied between breaths, making Dean smile back. Sam looked up at him, eyebrows raised, silently asking his big brother the same question. Dean shook his head, and leaned down to give him another kiss.

"Never wanted to do this with anyone else," he whispered, and grinned as his words sent an actual shiver through Sam.

Dean spread a little of the clear gel over a few fingers on his right hand, then put the tube on top of his nightstand. Sam took a shaky breath he realised what Dean was doing - he reached down between Sam's thighs, his slick fingers searching...

Sam's breath caught in his throat when Dean found that tight ring of muscle, and he couldn't help the small moan of pleasure that fell from his lips as his brother slipped a finger inside him without warning. He groaned and arched his back as Dean immediately added a second finger, trying to work them deeper and drawing all sorts of appealing groans and keens from his baby brother.

When Dean's fingers brushed his prostate, Sam gasped and made a small mewling noise in the back of his throat that took Dean's breath away - he immediately decided it was his new favourite sound, and made Sam repeat that delicious little noise a few more times before he added a third finger alongside the first two.

Sam moaned, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and grabbing fistfuls of the sheets - it wasn't easy to get that third finger in, and Dean could tell by the way Sam tensed underneath him that it hurt. But even if he could have strung together a coherent sentence, Sam wouldn't have dreamed of telling Dean to stop; by this point a divine, pleasure-induced fog had settled over him and he hardly noticed the pain.

When Dean finally felt his little brother relax around him, he slipped his fingers out and smiled at Sam's repeated disappointed whine - as far as Sam was concerned, it was over far too soon. He knew there'd be plenty of time for Dean to do all sorts of nice, slow, delicious things to him after tonight, but he still wanted that to go for just a little longer.

Sam took a few deep, shaky breaths, chasing away the fog - he could feel Dean's hands grasp his hips, positioning him just right... Then Dean's lips crushed down on his, and before Sam knew it, he was inside. He gasped against Dean's lips and arched his back slightly, unprepared for the sudden, hot flash of pain. It subsided to a burning sensation as his body stretched out to accommodate his brother, but Sam couldn't help digging his fingernails into Dean's back hard enough to leave small crescent moon-shaped marks.

That had hurt a helluva lot more than he'd expected, but the pain faded quickly and his brain registered a new sensation - still Dean, but now moving slowly and gently inside him. Suddenly, Sam forgot all about that initial pain - there weren't words to describe how _good_ this was. He moaned against Dean's mouth, catching his brother's bottom lip between his teeth and biting down a little harder than he intended.

Dean faltered in the kiss as he felt Sam bite, but the pain barely registered. He was lost in the sensation of Sam's body pressed around him, so much hotter and tighter than any girl he'd ever done this with.

He was brought back to the real world when he faintly heard his little brother trying to tell him something. Sam's lips were right next to his ear, but Dean had to concentrate to make out the words - he was finding it hard to focus on anything other than that intoxicating, tight heat.

"Harder, Dean." Sam almost growled the words as he writhed under Dean, trying to force him in deeper.

Dean looked down at his baby brother for a few seconds, all tanned skin and taut muscle and hazel eyes with pupils blown wide, and he didn't _want_ to hold back. He wanted Sam to feel this for _days_. Wanted Sam to be reminded of it every time he _moved_. But he didn't want Sam's memory of their first time to be dominated by how much it hurt, either.

"Don't wanna hurt you," Dean breathed, looking back down at his baby brother.

"I don't care-" Sam began, but was stopped mid-sentence as Dean leaned down and kissed him. "I don't care if it hurts," he murmured, against his brother's lips. He'd waited _so long_ for this night, and now that it was here he didn't want Dean to hold back.

Dean tried to start off slow. He really did. He wanted to look after Sammy and make this first time sweet and gentle and all that. But when he saw his own hands on Sam's shoulders, pinning him to the rumpled white sheets, heard his brother keening and pleading for him to go harder, not to hold back... how was he supposed to resist that?

When Dean took the brakes off, Sam had just enough time to realise he'd had no idea what he was getting himself into. Suddenly, he couldn't think in full sentences anymore and his vocabulary was reduced to his brother's name and a variety of soft moans, punctuated by near screams of pure pleasure when Dean repeatedly pounded into his prostate. He even bit Dean's shoulder as he came, leaving a sticky white mess all over both their bellies and rapidly-bruising teeth marks in the skin over his brother's deltoid muscle. Dean either didn't notice or didn't care - he didn't miss a beat.

Dean, for his part, actually lasted longer than he'd expected. Spending the day with Ashley took the edge off, and by the time he was closing in on his own climax he was totally spent. He came harder than he did with Ashley - or any other girl he'd ever slept with, for that matter - and collapsed bonelessly on top of Sam with a sigh. He rested his head on the hot, flushed skin of Sam's chest, and his baby brother hugged him close while he tried to catch his breath.

"Didn't expect this when you pulled into the parking lot, did you?" Sam asked softly, with a little smile. Dean laughed, a little shaky; his brain wasn't quite back in gear yet. He could quite happily fall asleep like this, all tangled up with his little brother, but he was distantly aware that he was probably pretty heavy lying on top of Sam and he knew they should do something about that stickiness between them...

He sighed and rolled onto the bed next to Sam, and heard his brother take a deep breath when the pressure was released from his chest. Before he got too comfortable, Dean leaned over the edge of the bed and scooped up a wrinkled t-shirt, then wiped the rapidly-drying mess from both their stomachs before he tossed the shirt back onto the floor and flaked out on the bed with a contented sigh.

Sam pulled the covers up over them, then Dean put his arm around his baby brother's shoulders as Sam rested his head on Dean's chest. He smiled as Sam cuddled up to him, breathing in the scent of his dishevelled hair as Sam kissed the pulse at the base of his neck. They laid there silently in the darkness for a minute, just taking it in.

"There's something I have to know, Sam. The whole time you held me up against the wall, how did you know I wanted this?" Dean asked eventually, and Sam chuckled softly before he answered.

"You told me we 'couldn't' a bunch of times, but you never said you didn't want to," he replied simply, and Dean smiled as he absently stroked his little brother's arm. He made it sound straightforward, but Dean knew it couldn't have been easy for him to initiate that confrontation.

"While we're on the subject, there's something _I_ want to know: were you going to tell me? If the biker hadn't interrupted, would you have told me you felt the same way?" Sam asked, more seriously now. Dean sighed as he felt Sam kiss his collarbone, thinking hard about the answer before he opened his mouth.

"I don't know," he said, honestly. "You looked so sad and ashamed, and I figured you thought I was about to walk out on you or something. The next words out of my mouth were going to be basically what I said in the parking lot - you know, 'it's okay, I don't hate you' kinda thing. But I certainly didn't plan on kissing you in front of the whole bar, if that's what you mean," Dean finished, a little smile on his lips as he thought about kissing Sam in front of a bar full of people.

Sam also smiled a little as he took that in. "But today... you didn't say a word about it," he said, the smile disappearing from his face.

"We were a little busy, Sam," Dean replied, and Sam sniffed.

"Yeah - busy. I was busy wondering if you'd hate me, and you were busy with Ashley." He tensed a little as he spoke, and Dean felt it.

"It hurt, huh? When I jumped at the chance to jump Ashley?" Dean asked, and got a little involuntary smile from Sam - Dean put together the most ridiculous sentences sometimes.

"I know we didn't talk about it and you were pretending not to remember, but I'm surprised you could put it out of your mind so easily," Sam replied, carefully.

"You were all I thought about all day," Dean said simply, and Sam blinked in surprise. "I just wanted Ashley to distract me, and it didn't occur to me it hurt you so much," he went on, apologetically. Sam sighed and laid a hand on Dean's chest, feeling his brother's heart beating against his palm and looking over at the purple bruise on his shoulder where it had hit the wall earlier.

"I don't blame you. What hurt was that she could get closer to you than I could. That all those girls could," Sam said, and Dean smiled.

"You're pretty Goddamn close, Sam," he chuckled, and Sam couldn't help but smile.

"You realise I'm not going to let you go now?" he told Dean, matter-of-factly.

"Fair warning, Sammy: I'm not great at this whole relationship thing," Dean replied, not entirely joking. "And while we're on the subject, don't think you're gonna get away with that macho dominant crap again. No way am I gonna be the bottom in this relationship," he went on, as sternly as he could manage with Sam softly kissing his neck like he was.

"I don't want you to be," he whispered, and Dean bit his lip to stifle a moan as Sam nipped at the point where his neck met his right shoulder. There was already a collection of his teeth marks on the tanned skin.

"You always were the girly one," Dean breathed, and Sam laughed softly.

"I wasn't the one bailed up against the wall by my baby brother earlier," he observed, and got an affectionate nip on the shoulder of his own by way of reply. "You know that's not a deterrent, right?" Sam grinned, and Dean bit him again, a little harder this time.

"I'm sure we can find something you'll enjoy more than throwing me into walls," Dean whispered, sending a shiver down Sam's spine. He couldn't wait to find out what that might be.

* * *

><p><em>This was supposed to be a short-and-sweet little fic to get this plot bunny off my case, so my muse would give me Ch 9 of <em>'Taken'_...__Didn't quite work out that way!_

_I've wanted to do an actual Wincest fic for a while now, and I rather enjoyed it. Those people waiting for Ch 9 might want to go all Glenn Close on the plot bunny for the delay, but the furry little guy_ did _bring me a story that basically wrote itself, so I'm not going to make rabbit stew out of it or anything. ;)_

_Anyway, as usual, I want to know what you think. Review! __Review__!_


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